Sculpture 34:  Untitled
by KobaltWolf
Summary: Konan is depressed. Her career as an origami artist is failing. Her tenement is the nest of harpies. And her love-life is virtually non-existent. But will the sale of Sculpture #34 halt her seemingly eternal downward spiral? PeinKonan. AU.
1. Act One

**Title: **Sculpture #34: Untitled

**Author:** KobaltWolf

**Summary:** Konan is depressed. Her career as an origami artist is failing. Her tenement has become the nest of harpies. And her love-life is virtually non-existent. But will the sale of Sculpture #34 halt her seemingly eternal downward spiral? PeinKonan.

**Warnings:** Rated T for mild swearing, suggestive themes, and because the author is paranoid.

~/~/~/~

_Damn._

Konan glared spitefully at the mere $30 she clutched in her hand. Out of the twenty-five sculptures she displayed, only one had sold, and not even her best. She hadn't even come up with a name for it.

She sniffed, shoving the bills into the pocket of her black hoodie in an attempt to hide her total failure as an artist. It didn't work.

She adjusted her precarious perch on the rickety bar stool.

_Rustle, rustle._

The bluette bit back a swear word as the stupid things scraped obnoxiously against the tacky fabric of her coat. She attempted to still herself, head between her hands as she rested her elbows on the bar's cold, black marble counter-top, and she repressed the dangerous shiver that threatened to induce the much feared noise.

A chaste grin stretched across her somber visage.

"Would you like anything t—"

"#!$!"

Konan's hands slammed against the counter with a loud_ slap _as the abominable rustle of paper punctured her eardrums. "_Why!_" She began to sob.

The waiter, shock (and fear) clearly written on every line of his obviously powdered face, stepped back at the sudden outburst. "Um. . . .well. . . .I'll go ov—"

"No, no." The miserable bluette glanced up, thankful for once that she didn't wear mascara. "I—I'll have a—a—a. . . ." Her gaze traveled upwards to the dank green, chalk-written menu that stared down mockingly at her from the ceiling. Its edges were framed with gaudy plastic jewels that scintillated in the dim lighting.

Oh, _kami,_ even the _menus_ were richer than she was!

"_WAHHH!_"

The waiter jumped as the bluette dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with the sheer misery of her situation. She'd been saving for _months_ for this one show, and then only _one freakin' origami sculpture sells._ Karma really did hate her.

Ever so gradually edging away, the waiter eyed her warily, nervously wringing his hands on a dish cloth.

"U—u—um. *sniff* I'll have a—a decaf *sniff* coffee. Black. *sniff* *sniff*." She endeavored to wipe away her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie, but more of the salty liquid rapidly brimmed over her already water-logged eye-lids.

The nervous server bobbed his head up and down in submission, practically dashing to the coffee machine. Anything to get away from that sorrow laden gaze. He quickly donned a pristine white apron, with his name written in neat, black callipgraphy: Robert.

A pair of steely gray eyes glared at his back. 'Robert' (if that was his real name) was probably richer than she was, too.

"_ACHOO!_" Konan sneezed into her sleeve, not caring whether or not the black fabric had turned slightly green, and bleakly hunched her shoulders.

"Here's your coffee. . . .ma'am."

Her tear-stained face glanced up to see the grimace that flickered across 'Robert's' face, before he managed to force a smiling facade in its place.

The bluette's shoulders hung lower, this time in embarrassed shame.

_Thud._

Konan stared down at the inky black surface of the decaf with a heartbroken expression and idly wondered whether its net worth was comparable to her own.

_Slosh. Slosh._

She slowly turned the gleaming, silver-encrusted spoon around the blindingly white coffee mug, knowing she probably couldn't afford such a drink from such a luxurious coffee bar, but not really caring. As she raised the mug to her lips, the bluette fleetingly wished she'd visited an actual, alcoholic bar instead, but she quickly dismissed the desire. Didn't drink. Never would.

The searing liquid dribbled down her throat, both soothing and irritating the sensitive flesh. Konan closed her silvery gray eyes, tilting her teary face upwards so as to better feel the draft of freezing air that drifted lazily from the unlatched door.

Well. She could always get a job here. She smirked at the thought of herself dressed in one of those bright white aprons with her name sewn in pretty, neat letters: Konan. Her face done up in makeup and powder and the entitlement to tip her chin up at any passerby because _she_ was dressed nicely. No more ratty hoodies from discount-discount-discount stores. No more ripped jeans three sizes too big. No more cheap tourist T-shirts. No more hand-me-down tennis sh—

_BANG!_

The bluette nearly leaped from her seat as the coffee shop's front door slammed open, the little bell that greeted newcomers barely being given a chance to sing its cheery, out-of-place song before it was brutally crashed against the off-gray walls.

"Hey. . . .this ishn't the bar. . . ."

Konan winced as the clearly drunk slur reached her ears.

"I can shee that, moronsh."

Wow. They were really out of it.

"Whashever, Oroshi."

Maybe they'd just leave. . . .

"Hey, you. Sisshy man."

Maybe not. . . .

'Robert' glanced up nervously, once again wringing his hands with a dish cloth. "Y—yes, sirs?"

A bushy white-haired man sauntered up to the counter, a few feet away from Konan's slumping form, peering over at the waiter with beady eyes. "Whersh ish the bar?"

"Um—well, I—I, u—uh—"

A sigh of annoyance escaped the bluette's lips before she could halt herself. Was this guy really _that _pathetic?

"Hey, you. Doshn't mashke fun of ush—_oh!_"

Konan mentally smacked herself for drawing the drunk's attention, and she felt her eye twitch as the whitehead's hungry gaze took in her flawless figure. She could practically _see_ the drool dribbling from the edges of his mouth.

"H—hey! Oroshi, comsh over here!"

A slimy looking, black-haired thing appeared on her other side, causing her to grimace. This, she guessed, would be 'Oroshi.' His (at least she thought it was a he) skin was unnaturally pale, purple eyeshadow trailing from his yellow eyes and a dank leather jacket clining to his skeletal form. He looked like a snake. Konan didn't like snakes. They got into her garden, waiting to bite her. She cut their heads off with shovels.

'Oroshi' purred, a scratchy, hissing sound that made the bluette's skin itch. "She'sh cute, Jiraish."

'Jiraish' whistled in agreement, a cocky, and what he probably thought to be dashing, grin making its way across his face.

A vein began to pulse on the bluette's temple, and she glanced at 'Robert' expectantly. The moron just stood there dumbly, unsure of what to do. Wimp.

"Sho, babe, want to go have shome funsh?" 'Jiraish' grinned cheekily.

"No."

The cold response didn't seem put the pair off.

"Aw, come onsh." Oroshi put in his two cents.

Konan felt her temper rapidly growing short.

"Jusht a little funsh. . . ."

That's when she felt something grab the seat of her pants.

"SON OF A $#!%!"

The bluette was up in an instant, her leg already connected with the 'Jiraish's' gut.

_BAM!_

The whitehead slammed into the counter, eyes wide with surprise.

Without a second thought, Konan flipped in mid-air, driving her hard-heeled tennis shoe into 'Oroshi's' face.

"_Gah!_" the snake man cried out as he crashed into the next bar stool.

"HOW DARE YOU $# $%#$#$ TRY TO %!$!#' $#!% ME!" she continued to rant in such a fashion, stalking over to where the whitehead was still struggling, and failing, to lift himself up.

A quick glance told her 'Robert' was frozen in shock, probably because the 'meek,' 'crybaby' woman who had been sobbing in misery for the last half-hour had suddenly discovered the strength to kick a man twice her size halfway across a room. It tended to scare some people.

And, as she lifted 'Jiraish' up against the wall with one hand, she remembered why she loved her ratty hoodies from discount-discount-discount stores, and her ripped jeans three sizes too big, and her cheap tourist T-shirts, and her hand-me down tennis shoes: she didn't have to worry about stains.

"_Oh,_ you are _so_ gonna pay $#%$#." She drew her fist back, ready give the wasted man the beating of his li—

"Hey! Calm down!"

Konan jumped as something warm grabbed her fist. Out of instinct she twisted to the side in a round-house kick. A feeling of satisfaction touched her mind as someone yelped as they dodged her offensive. Whoever they were, she heard the skid of their boots against the floor as they attempted to regain their balance. In one fleet motion, the bluette pushed off the cream, plush-cushion wall, flipping mid-air and landing lithely on her heels, arms ready to put whoever dared to challenge her in a headlock. Only to stop dead.

When someone had attempted to come to the aid of 'Jiraish,' she'd been expecting a wrinkly, old drunk who rode a Harley or something in an attempt to cling to his youth. Not a handsome, orange-haired teenager who actually was _in_ his youth.

Her jaw dropped slightly as he stared back at her with a both shocked and amused expression. Piercings covered his face, compelling her to unconsciously count them. Six studs impaling the nose. Two spikes sparking beneath his lip. A bright metal bar through each ear. Six earrings piercing each lobe. A _voodoo_ doll would've been jealous, but it _worked_ on him. Her hand trailed to her own single labret piercing, her previously daring statement against polite society's rules now being irreversibly dwarfed.

Forcing her eyes to examine the rest of her would-be foe's body, the bluette tensed her muscles. A pair of faded skinny jeans covered his lean legs, decorated around the studded belt with silver and iron chains. Adorning his upper body was a charcoal colored hoodie over a black T-shirt stained with grease and oil. Maybe a car mechanic? But his shoes said it all.

Konan blinked.

Shoes could tell a lot about a person. Whether they were rich or poor was a major point, but there were many others: a person's diet, walking habits, age, style, caste of life, personality, etc. You were on public display when it came to shoes.

The stranger's shoes were especially interesting. They weren't old, raggedy loafers like that of 'Jiraish' and 'Oroshi', yet not the garishly shining black of 'Robert.' Black tennis shoes. Relaxed fit. Thick heels. A white Nike logo on the outside. Mud and grease stains with some leftover salt from a recent meal. Relatively sensible. (Far more sensible than that of 'Robert.') Maybe a year or two old. Probably done some hiking in 'em, but they held up well. Very little wear on the heel. The bridge was obviously custom adjusted, though, revealed by subtle stitching on the center left of the right shoe.

So. . . .she calculated the results in her head. . . .a rebel teenager with a passion for the outdoors who probably worked around cars often and ate regularly at McDonalds or a fast-food restaurant of a similar nature. Parents were most likely out of the picture, but the stranger took their advice to heart (other than the 'no piercings' rule). He shopped at discount rate, but wasn't bound by a price and took the time to look for the most comfortable, long-lasting footwear.

Yes, shoes could tell a lot.

_Wonder what my shoes say._

Konan shook the thought from her head. She knew what they said: poor castaway of society that lived in an overcrowded tenement with two emo-obsessed harpies and who had the salary of a sweat-shop worker. Cheery.

"Ano, but do you think we could get up now? This position is giving me back cramps."

The bluette started, causing the man opposite her to grin cheekily. Mentally cursing, she quickly schooled her expression back to one of suspicious neutrality. "You tell me."

"I say yes." The orange-haired stranger calmly yawned, straightening so as to stretch what she presumed to be an aching back. But he could be lying. He probably was. Actually, he almost certainly was. . . . the way he scrunched his eyes when yawning was really cute. . . ._GAH!_

"I'll have to apologize for my two idiot comrades over there." He gestured nonchalantly to where 'Jiraish' and 'Oroshi' lay in a jumbled heap of ragged clothing and bad breath. "They got away from the group." The stranger sheepishly rubbed the back of his orange head.

"And attempted to pick me up."

He cringed slightly at her icy tone. "Yeah, yeah, they did." Oh, _kami,_ her glare was scary. "Can I make it up to you? Buy you a drink?"

"Already got one."

". . . .paid yet?"

". . . .no."

"I'll buy that!" He smiled cheerily, eyes scrunching cutely as he did.

_No!_ _Not cute!_

"Hn." Konan turned towards the bar and away from the stranger, smirking as she did. No more dodging policemen and angry-garishly-bright-shoes—sorry 'Roberts'—tonight. She was _paying._ . . .in a sense.

"My lady." The orange-haired bowed humbly as he grandly gestured towards the coffee-bar. A smirk still painted his face.

She snorted, taking her previous seat while the man lounged in the next one down. Silence pervaded, only disturbed by the mad squeaking of 'Robert' ringing his washcloth over and over again. Konan's shoulders hunched once more as she stared down at the coffee. Relying on a punk stranger to pay her bills? New low.

"Hey, you alright?"

The bluette tipped her visage towards the pierced-stranger. How _dare_ he ask her if she was alright when they'd just met. How would _he_ know what was 'alright' for her or what was 'un-alright.' Moron.

"Yeah, fine."

"Hmm." Leaning towards her slightly, he cocked his pierced head. "Do I know you?"

Konan glanced at him, clearly bewildered. "Uh, no?"

_Click!_ The stranger snapped his fingers together, a triumphant grin splitting his face. "I know! You're Kunan—Kanon—_Konan!_"

The bluette's slender figure immediately tensed up. Had she scammed him before?

"Relax." He held his hands up placatingly at her change in sudden posture. "Your gallery featured a photo of you."

"Oh—wait, you've been to my gallery?"

_People know about me! Oh, happy day!_

"Of course! I actually bought one of your sculptures."

"_Origami_ sculptures."

_They aren't just some _plain_ old sculpture. These are _cultured.

Konan eyed the man with new appreciation. Despite his punkish, back-street appearance, the stranger had taste. And he had given her a salary, no matter how small. Always a bonus.

He continued with excitement. "But I can't believe you were selling for so cheap! Thirty dollars? Could've _easily_ sold for seventy, and even that would be pushing it. I've seen less quality go for over a hundred."

The bluette's cheeks tinged with pink. "R—really?" _AH! No stuttering!_

"Definitely."

"I'm flattered." You weren't supposed to lie. . . .right?

"How many others sold?"

Almost instantaneously, her shoulders slumped back into depression. "Zero." Misery filled her tenor.

The orange-head's eyes widened at the sudden mood-swing. "Oh—um—I—uh—" He wasn't _good_ at this kind of thing!

She sighed dejectedly, a few strands of blue-gray hair wisping across her pale face. "It's fine. People just don't have taste." _They're all MORONS._

"A toast to that!" He raised an imaginary wine glass, a smirk replacing his former uncertainty, and Konan _had_ to smile. It was 'polite' after all. "I was thinking of placing it on my mantle. Thoughts?"

The bluette was quick to respond, her hands gesticulating wildly. "Oh, no! It's paper. Paper and fire no mixie."

A genuine smile crossed his face at her, while not particularly happy, non-gloomy expression. "That_ would_ make sense. The piano maybe?"

". . . .better."

He clasped his palms together and fake bowed. "I will try to learn the ways of your art, great master."

"One, it's called origami. And two, it's mistress to you."

The man waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "That could give the wrong impression, no?"

The bluette's brow puckered in confusion, then it dawned on her. A furious blush spread across her ivory cheeks, as she ducked her head, embarrassed. "Oh."

He smirked. "Mmm-hmm. Of course, I'm quite fine with that scenario."

"Pervert!" She playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" He mock winced, eyes shining all the while.

She snorted skeptically, the blush already fading. He wanted to play dirty? So would she. "Oh, don't be such a sissy. I didn't hit you _that _hard."

"You obviously don't know your own strength."

"Well, at least I _have_ strength—"

_BRRING!_

Konan jumped at the unexpected sound, a blush already forming. Luckily, the pierced man seemed too occupied with his phone to notice. Wait, how was that 'lucky?'

"I apologize, but I have to go."

She jumped from her seat once more. "Why?" The syllable was out before she could stop it. Was it rude? Probably.

He chuckled and jerked his thumb back to where 'Jiraish' and 'Oroshi' were splayed out by the wall. "Jiraiya's girlfriend, Tsunade, sent me after them, and she's now ticked off that I'm not back. She says that if I'm not back at the bar with him and Orochimaru within ten minutes, she will pound me into an unrecognizable red sidewalk stain, plus some very imaginative cusses as well," he finished as his eyebrows raised substantially in what could only be described as awe.

Konan gulped. Tsunade sounded scary.

"She kind of reminds me of you."

The bluette's eye twitched as she glared at the chuckling man. "Ha, ha."

He ignored the venomous tone, continuing to snicker as he picked himself up from the bar. "Now, I really must be going. It was wonderful to meet you Konan, and I will _try_ not to set your statue on fire. Of course, things can happen. . . ." He shrugged sheepishly as he made to move towards the pair unconscious of drunks.

"You do that." _Don't sound sad!_

Apparently, her mental cheering didn't work completely as guilt flickered over the man's brow.

"Oh, don't feel guilty!" she blurted, immediately realizing the foolishness of her desperate statement. "I'm fine! Really. Abso_lutely_ fine."

"That may be, but I'll be here tomorrow around 6:00 if you want to come." The question was implied.

_He dates me. He dates me not. He dates me. He dates me not._ "I'd love to!"

The stranger smiled cheerily as he swung the not-so-light 'Jiraiya' over his shoulder with ease. "Great!" He gripped 'Orochimaru's' collar in his other hand. "See you then." He turned and skipped towards the door.

_How does he _carry_ those hulks._

Then the bluette realized something. Her eyes widened as he took his first step out the door. "_Wait!_"

He confused visage met hers. "Hm?"

_That was close, you idiot._ "I don't know your name."

The grin returned. "Oh! Sorry. I lose track of things a lot. It's Pein." Then he was gone.

_Pein. P-E-I-N. Peeiiin. Pein._ She rolled the odd name around her mind. Who named their kid _Pein?_ It was kind of depressing. _No! Happy thoughts. _Konan turned back to the counter, where 'Robert' was still nervously ringing out his washcloth. With one quick swig, she downed the rest of her now cold coffee and stood to leave. She stalked towards the door, tightly wrapping her pale gray coat around her willowy form and pulling a knitted blue beanie from one of its pockets. Careful not to crush her white-flower beret, she tugged the headdress down over her slightly pink ears and self-consciously patted the top. "See you, Robert."

Behind the bluette, the waiter choked. "How do you know my n—"

_SLAM!_

~/~/~/~

**R&R please! I can't improve my writing without feedback. Also, Part 2 will be coming soon. And finally, the next installment of _Gift of the Outcast_ might be a little late, but it will come out all the same. Peace out peoplz!**

**KobaltWolf**


	2. Act Two

**Title: **Sculpture #34: Untitled

**Author:** KobaltWolf

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Mild swearing, suggestive themes, and because the author is paranoid.

**Summary: **Konan is depressed. Her career as an origami artist is failing. Her tenement has become the nest of harpies. And her love-life is virtually non-existent. But will the sale of Sculpture #34 halt her seemingly eternal downward spiral? PeinKonan.

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own _Naruto_ or any of its subsidiaries.

**Hey, peoples! Sorry this took so long, but I've been focusing on other projects as of late. However, I saw this in my documents and randomly decided to finish Chapter Two. :D Hope you like it. And, please, R&R!**

**Also, a shout-out to Echo Uchiha and AmegakureAngel for reviewing! I really appreciate it. **

_Pein._

Konan's hands clenched, turning the knuckles a pale shade of ivory. _How DARE he give me an alias!_

Well that _was_ the only logical conclusion. No one would name their child 'Pein' of their their own free will. Unless they were captured by Oto radicals who, in an effort to sabotage the Konoha government, forced them to—GAH!

The bluette madly shook her head. _It's an alias. Period._

A cool breeze whistled through the streets of a less than nice part of the city. Steely gray apartments rose up on her either side, acting the part of gloomy sentinels, ready to topple down on any intruder foolish enough to stray from the beaten path and, at the same time, providing shelter to those unable to function on the beaten path.

Konan's shoulders slumped as she passed a group of homeless teenagers huddled together under the sanctuary of an abandoned fruit stand. Five? Six? She didn't know the exact number of their group. Quiet snores echoed from their lips, eyes closed in restless sleep, hands and feet twitching every few seconds as their skin rebuked its contact with the icy air. A few feet away, another teen reclined against the wooden construct, keen amber eyes suspiciously following the bluette's progress as he calmly rubbed his dirty, cloth-wrapped hands together in a futile attempt for reprieve from the cold. A terse, unspoken agreement passed between them as the boy nodded sharply. Without hesitation, she returned the gesture. Her recognition as a club member had been accepted.

She trudged onward, her gaze locked on the facade of a particularly depressing tenement. Or maybe that was just her impression. . . . The distance between her and the building closed too quickly for her liking, her hand coming to rest on the chipped brass doorknob all too soon. She absently tugged it open, the lock degraded long ago, and, with dejected acceptance, traipsed up the stairs.

Each step creaked with a subtly different pitch, all off-key. Something slightly above a C# there. Maybe a tone just below a G natural there. The railing was even worse. If burdened with even the slightest weight, the construct would let loose an obnoxious shriek, just high enough to make it feel like it was shattering your eardrums.

Konan's usual rush to escape the stairs had been almost completely halted as she solemnly marched upwards, gray eyes locked on her feet. She took another step.

Silence.

A sigh escaped her lips. The stairway had ended all too soon. Stained, chipped paint greeted her eyes as she glanced upward, a few flakes falling to the floor at the small tremors of her stairway-trek. Scuttling echoed through the hallway before her, followed by a quiet squeaking. Something growled.

The bluette trudged forward, counting the doors as she went. _No. No. No. No. Yes._ The white paint-job of Apartment 5's door had long since been worn away, leaving splatters of eggshell pigment over decade-old stains of discount beer.

_Click._

The key turned in the brass lock with little resistance. Hesitantly, she nudged the portal open.

"_OH, Konan! You're home!_"

The bluette winced at the near shriek, though she still managed to glare at her pink-haired roommate simultaneously. "_What,_ Sakura."

Haruno Sakura grinned cheerily, revealing a set of pearly, unnaturally straight teeth. "Just saying hi!"

Konan's eye twitched.

"So? Where were you?" The other resident of the tenement, a pony-tailed, blue-eyed blonde, asserted herself.

"What makes you think I was somewhere?" The artist shrugged her jacket off, throwing it in the corner next to the door.

The blonde rolled her eyes. "You're late, and unnaturally gloomy."

"Hm, hadn't noticed," the bluette replied nonchalantly as she examined the condition of their shared room. A few left-over beer bottled were strewn along the windowsill on the. . . .north side of the room, still glistening with alcohol. On the west, garishly red lipstick was smeared across the flaking drywall. South, a streamer or two fluttered from the ceiling. And in the east—was that a pair of _underwear?_

Konan contemptuously shook her head and stalked over to the offending garment, gingerly picking it up between two fingers. "And what is _this?_"

"Oh, I wouldn't touch that," the blonde supplied. "It's _used._" She smirked at the implication and swung her legs back and forth from her perch on one of the room's two beds.

"OH MY GOD. INO!" The article of clothing rocketed by Ino's impassive face.

Sakura raised an eyebrow. "Wow, Konan, I never knew you were such a girl."

"I'M NOT A GIRL."

"_Oh?_"

"Huh? _GAH!_ THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"

"It's alright, Konan! We'll accept you _any way you are_," the pair supplied earnestly, grinning as they did so.

"But—no—you—_whatever._" The room practically shook as the bluette stalked to the room's only couch, flopping down on its blotched surface without a second thought. After all, it was her bed. She tugged the tacky green pillow over her head, pressing it against her ears until they throbbed, trying to tune out the harpies' incessant blabbering.

"Oh, come on, sweetie! It's nothing to be _ashamed of._" It was so. . . .so. . . ._mockingbird_ of them, and Konan didn't even know what that meant.

Taunts were thrown, accompanied by raucous pecking and squeaking. Displaced feathers flew through the air to land on tattered furniture. But the bluette stayed aloft, buried under her pillow until the crows found some other shiny thing to amuse themselves.

". . . .don't worry, Konan. Youalready look the part and still are _relatively_ hot."

"Not as hot as _Sasuke._"

"I know, right? He looked _so_ sexy today at the. . . ."

The pillow's grasp on her raw ears relaxed its grip. Crisis averted.

She lay there, waiting for sleep to claim her as two constant sound machines clamored in the background. Every few moments, she'd shift her position in an attempt to divert the impending back-pain that sleeping on a 20+ year old couch presented. But nothing seemed to work. Her muscles would twitch of their own accord. And the moment concentration was lost, her eyelids would slip themselves open. Light managed to penetrate even through the protective pillow, turning the prized blackness a burnt and ugly red. And the constant background noise and smell of hairspray did nothing to help. Konan was sure that she'd read somewhere that the human nose could adjust to any scent within fifteen minutes, but apparently her nose had regressed to that of a protozoa.

_Wait, do protozoa even_ have_ noses?_

GAH! The bluette mentally slapped herself. This was the reason _why_ she couldn't fall asleep.

She flipped to the side, face turned towards the couch-back. As a child, she'd been diagnosed with ADHD, or Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder for long, by the school-funded psychologist. Since then, the hyperactivity had long since worn off, but the inability to focus hadn't. If anything, it'd gotten worse. She'd drift off into her own little world during the middle of a conversation, or walk into a telephone pole because she'd start reviewing her grocery list in her head while planning her escape from the harpies. Once, she almost died crossing the street because she'd started thinking about the shiny orange coats crossing-guards got to wear.

The bluette sniffed.

She still wanted one.

_Ugh._

_SHCMIPP!_

The pillow fell to the floor with a sickening squelch as Konan rolled to her feet. "I'm going out."

Her roommates (or jail-mates. Whichever you prefer) barely paid her statement heed. A quick "hm" and "ya" rebounded through the room as the artist swung the door wide and stalked out, haughtily slamming it behind her. From behind the tacky wood, muffled complaints could be heard, but Konan didn't care. Hades could welcome his Furies at the gates of the Fields of Asphodel for all she was concerned.

Now, to the outside observer, such condemnation might seem unreasonable, or even outright cruel. But such criticism was common place in her world, while manners and etiquette had no standing.

_One cannot judge what they do not understand, no?_

Konan smirked as she trudged down several flights of stairs, creakings and shriekings following her every step, only abating once her feet had left the premises. Meandering down the long-unpaved sidewalk, the bluette absently noted her lack of coat. How irritating.

She tilted her head upwards to meet the cloudy sky of Konohagakure. Even with the late hour, the sky was still tinted gray by the lights of a hundred 24-hour markets, taverns, and co.

Gradually, the slums gave way to cheese-and-wine-tasting shops and prime-location coffee bars. Beggars turned into late-night party-goers in tight-fit dresses and over-priced tuxes. Old tenements became high-rise apartments, and piles of lint and garbage were transmogrified into clean-cut, concrete sidewalks. The plight of the backstreets would never be known.

A sigh escaped her lips.

Humans had an interesting nature to say in the most.

She slumped against the brick wall of a Victorian antique shop, her breath making little, white clouds of mist.

"_What is she doing?_"

The bluette's eyes met with that of a passing elderly couple. At the contact, the shriveled woman huddled closer to her big-bodied husband.

_My appearance must be less than adequate._

She tried to smile, but all that came out was a slight twitch of the lips. It scared them more. The pair scuttled across the street, in that way where they try to look like they're interested in some other city street or building, but where they're really just terrified.

She frowned.

What _was_ she doing?

She didn't need _their_ assurance. Heck, she'd probably never see them again! They were unimportant in the grand scheme of things. They'd go home to their fancy hotel, eat some room service, and go to bed. And when they got up in the morning, the bluette would just be some nightmare to tell there rich friends about whenever they got home to their damn mansion.

Konan pushed herself off the wall, favoring to meander further down the street.

And what was she doing _now?_

What did she hope to accomplish from this _stupid_ trip?

_Crack!_

Her fist hit the wall, straight and hard. Passerby shot the bluette worried glances, clutching their fine leather jackets and mink coats to their breasts and hurrying onward.

It was _ridiculous!_

Karma was still gonna come back to bite her in the butt, no matter what she did. Some starry night and hopeful words of self-encouragement weren't going to change that fact of life.

The cement beneath her feet gave way to green, finely-manicured park grass, the kind that a doting gardener spends years trying to raise and cultivate just so as to be the envy of the local gardeners' association for the duration of a few months, until some other newbie gardener steals his glory away with a flock of rose bushes shaped like various mythical creatures or an ivy plant that covers the entire, multi-tiered wall of an apartment building. The park's grass-gardener wouldn't know what hit him.

She loped to the side to avoid a particularly impressive gnarled oak, its trunk nearly four feet wide at the base. Knobby roots stuck from the ground, probably waiting for the chance to trip her. After all, nearly everyone seemed to be waiting for that.

_Scrunch!_

With an emotion akin to surprise, Konan's eyes shot downward in response to the unexpected noise, only to meet the now crushed petals of a newly-sprouted dandelion bud. She pulled her foot back with haste, but what was done was done. A possible family-line had been destroyed before it had even started. It was depressing.

The bluette picked up her heel and continued walking, eyes to the ground. She tried to avoid murdering any more plants.

_Life is ironic, no?_

A smirk traced her lips.

_I can't exactly say how or why, but I know it is._

Something wet seeped through her shoes, and she stopped, staring down at the now rippling surface of a duck-pond, its color midnight-black. One of the birds trumpeted quietly in the dark, clearly berating her for the disturbance, and her thought's drifted briefly to Sasuke's hair.

_Stay on topic!_

Konan rigidly snapped her mind back to a more constructive topic: the category of Pein. One could just _envision_ the fancy calligraphy to go with that title. But of course, Konan was just Konan. No eloquent font for that.

More importantly, Pein. One didn't have the right to drift, after all.

A quick list of known facts: Orange hair. Lots of piercings. Wears black. Interesting shoes. Has some amount of money. Is friends with two drunks and their psycho girlfriend.

A sigh reverberated across the glass-like water as her shoulders dropped. Not much to go on.

Her eyes drifted lazily upward, watching with reserved interest as fog feathered from the pond's edges, like an envious phantom, twisting and writhing into the dark. It was pretty.

Back to Pein. The facts were few to say in the least and speculations were not valid. Cold, hard facts. That was her demand.

Without notice, she began to pace.

_Is it an alias?_

The first order of business. Aliases were a tricky thing. They weren't inherently dishonest (heck, even she had her share of 'em) but false names and dishonesty often went hand-in-hand. Such a title as Pein was unusual. It was like naming your child Happy but with an emo flare. And let's face it, according to Konan's oh-so-handy-book-of-stereotypes, someone who names their kid Pein is most likely not going to be a very good parent, but he didn't _show _any signs of mental scarring. . . .of course, her oh-so-handy-book-of-stereotypes also dictated that the bluette was a poor, slum-worn, drug-addict prostitute who slept with any man she could find who would pay five bucks. Completely realistic.

_What reason would he have to give me an alias? _

A desire to break away? Be rebellious? Hide from reality? All viable. Yet he didn't seem like the type to choose a variation of the word 'pain' as a name. Of course, looks could be deceiving.

_Schlimp!_

Her foot slammed into the mud as she growled in frustration. It wasn't relevant! Well, actually it was. What if he were preparing to abduct her at their next meeting in order to to use her in a ritual for his evil, satanic cult and—

_I'm really not trusting, am I._

She face-palmed.

Maybe trust classes would help. . . .not that she could afford them.

_This isn't helping!_

Onto the second order of business: was he part of an evil, satanic religious cult?

The bluette deadpanned. That wasn't even worth starting on.

_Sigh._

Konan slumped onto a conveniently placed park bench, resting her weary head on her hands. Maybe she should just accept it: Pein was an enigma and always would be. Tomorrow's meeting could help to clear things up, or it could just make them worse. Anything was possible in the long-run, or short-run, whichever you prefer.

Absently, she noted that depression was beginning to set in. The solution? Chocolate.

The bluette stood with renewed purpose, a mildly hopeful expression blessing her visage. Chocolate could fix anything. It was a proven fact.

Her feet seemingly moved of their own accord, carrying her through the dimly lit park. She glanced up in surprise as something wet dribbled down her cheek, only to get a drop of rain in the eye. "NEH!" Tears welled up the offended organ as her eyelid rapidly blinked in an effort to expel the intruder.

_Why are they trying to destroy their own kind? I mean, water is water, right?_

Poor little raindrop.

_Sigh._

She could sympathize.

Street lamps broke the twilight melancholy, and Konan briefly noted that her previously absent shadow had joined her.

On the other side of the street, the neon lights of a 24-hour Texaco lit up their surroundings in an obnoxious, unnatural, bluish tint. Just what Konan needed. She hurried across the road, glancing to the sides periodically in order to ascertain that she would not become a pancake.

_I think I'd be blueberry._

But the road was deserted. What respectable person'd be out at 2 o'clock in the morning, anyway?

With a sigh of relief, the bluette slipped into the much-desired convenience store and glanced upwards as the doorbell sounded it's melancholy _ting!_

"Hn?"

She turned her gaze to the desk, but quickly averted it once more as the sole employee stared appraisingly at her with his one visible eye. Briefly, she wondered how a single eye could bear down on her so much. . . .

"Can I help you, miss?"

Konan started at the voice. "U—um, just looking for a chocolate bar. . . ." Her statement trailed off as she glared at the floor. _No, stuttering!_

"Well, they're over there." He probably made some abstract gesture to accompany the quotation, but she didn't bother to look.

"Thank you."

Thankfully, the sweets were easily found, seeing as the huge sign for Hershey's new brand of bar was the largest thing in the entire establishment. _White chocolate with peanuts._ She grimaced. Dark chocolate was much better. And peanuts? Bleh.

Pure dark chocolate.

Now _that_ sounded good.

Konan didn't even have to hesitate in her choice as she plucked the classic Hershey's from its box. With a mildly pleased grin, she turned on the balls of her feet and approached the desk. "Only this, please." To her joy, her strong voice was back.

He barely glanced up from his book. "That'll be one dollar and forty-nine cents."

The bluette blanched. "U—um. . . ." _No!_

Stupid world! Who needed money anyways?

_Me._

GAH!

"Well, I—I, uh. . . ."

He glanced up, and, even though nearly all of his face was hidden behind a mask, Konan blinked as he smiled softly. "No money?"

"Y—yeah." She averted her eyes once more.

_Clink, clink, clink._

The tell-tale sound of colliding coins met her ears. _Is he going to throw them at me?_ The bluette braced herself for a piece of metal in her eye as she looked up.

Six quarters sat on the desk, the man still quietly reading, but the button on the front pocket of his coat was undone.

In shock, she cautiously reached out to nudge the nearest one with her index finger.

"Ah, thank you."

The man plucked them from her touch and opened the register, plopping them down in their rightful resting place. "I trust you won't mind if I keep the change?" He performed an eye-smile as he held up a penny.

Speechless, Konan stared at him.

"Was that a yes I heard? Why thank you, miss." He deposited the coin in his coat pocket, buttoning it back up. "I hope you enjoy your purchase." He turned back to his book.

And Konan smiled, her eyes crinkling happily. "Thanks. I will."

~/~/~/~

**Again, a quick reminder to R&R! I can't improve my writing without constructive criticism. :) And _yes,_ the Texaco employee was Kakashi. There just wasn't a spot where I could reasonably state his identity.**

**Chapter Three might be a little delayed, but I will eventually get it out. It will also most likely be the last part of the story.**

**Sincerely,**

**KobaltWolf**


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